pass the proud
footstep of a primate, with head erect under the cardinal's red hat,
whilst the rustle of silken robes, white and scarlet, whispered of
greatness and vanity. It now shines by the light of other days. All its
pomp and pride has vanished; dead, silent and deserted, its glory has
been transferred to Toulouse, now the Archbishop's See.

We discovered the ancient dame who keeps the keys of the Museum. She
dwells in almost an underground room of the building, a distant wing in
the garden, where in days gone by the Archbishop paced and meditated in
the seclusion of impenetrable walls. Looking upwards nothing would
arrest the eye but the far-off serene sky and unfinished fragment of the
Cathedral. It is still a grey, venerable pile, this wing, silent and
empty.

But in the quiet little lodge of the custodian hearts still beat to the
tune of life's small dramas. A slight altercation was going on. The dame
was laying down the law to a young man, evidently her son. What the
transgression we could not tell. Possibly debt, and he had come to draw
upon the hard-earned savings in the chimney-corner: a sort of mental and
moral earthquake to the frugal mother-mind. Perhaps he was announcing
his marriage with one who would make him a bad wife. Or he had grown
tired of his narrow world, and pleaded to cross the seas and begin life
on a new soil. Whatever it might be, he departed looking very much as if
he too had his burden to bear. In passing he saluted, and said,
"Bonjour, messieurs," and his looks were comely and his voice was
pleasant. He had the air of a sailor, and possibly was a fisherman from
the little port eight miles off. When he had disappeared beyond the
trees, the old mother, who must also have been comely in her day, took
the keys and led the way up the broad marble staircase to the Museum.
The shades of evening were gathering, and our visit would almost have
been lost labour had there been anything else to do. It was too dark to
judge fairly, but amidst a great amount of rubbish we thought we
discovered a few good old pictures.

Long after the sun had set and the afterglow had faded, we went back to
the hotel and madame's hospitable attentions.

She was determined we should not suffer from the demands of the banquet.
The whole corridor was now lined with orange trees, whose sheeny green
leaves stood out in strong contrast with some strings of red peppers she
had artistically festooned against the walls;